


By the light of a southern star

by fried_flamingo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Canon Divergence, Case Fic, F/M, Pretending To Be Married, Romance, Slow Burn, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fried_flamingo/pseuds/fried_flamingo
Summary: A crime has been committed onboard a luxury cruise ship - or has it?  Phryne and Jack go undercover as newly weds to solve a mystery of missing persons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently just discovered Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries on Netflix and was hooked immediately by the sexual tension between Jack and Phryne... those two make my screen sizzle! What else can I do but write fic?
> 
> So here's my take on the old 'pretend to be married to solve the crime' trope. This one is set between S1 and S2.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and all feedback is more than welcome!

**Prologue**

On a bright November night in 1928, a steamship slides through the frigid waters of the Southern Ocean, sending plumes of vapour skyward towards the cross of stars, like smoke signals warning of menace. Such signals, if that’s what we imagine them to be, are destined to go unheeded, for land is far behind and, in these waters, the ship sails alone.  


Alone, but not abandoned, for throughout its decks, people throng, from the Chief Officers who man the bridge with haughty diligence, to the stewards laying out the pristine linen and polished cutlery in the dining room, to the passengers dressing for dinner in jewelled gowns and white ties. The ship we observe seems a haven for all that is genteel and glittering.

But not all onboard are so spellbound by the cut-glass sparkle of luxury. Blood, ruby-thick and shining, drips on to the decks that had been holystoned and made beautifully clean just a few hours before. A guttural choking accompanies the pitiless _drip-drip_ that spreads its black stain across varnished teak, a leaden slump of flesh following soon after. After such violence, the subsequent splash seems a tiny thing indeed.

Our ship sails on, heedless of the ballast it has just shed, following the star for which it’s named, towards port and the hollow promise of safety from all storms.

**Chapter One**

Dawn thrust a needle of sunlight through a gap in the bedroom curtains of The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, stabbing her through the left eyelid, the one that wasn’t pressed into her feather pillow. She huffed a grunt of irritation and flopped over in her bed, feeling the twinge of a hangover that she suspected might kill her. Thankfully, despite her not-so-better judgement last night, she found herself alone; she didn’t think she could deal with both the threatening headache AND having to throw out the young midshipman with whom she had contemplated a dalliance in the later hours of Mac’s birthday party, but whose name now escaped her. Thank God Mac had dragged her off to that jazz club where dancing had taken precedence over fucking. It was true, however, that he’d had the thighs of a Melbourne Cup winning thoroughbred, so her relief wasn’t without a tiny morsel of regret.

A knock on her bedroom door had her croaking out a ‘come in’ and Dot pushed herself in backwards, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of something and what smelled like bacon and eggs. Phryne’s stomach growled; not THAT bad a hangover then.

“Mr Butler thought you might be needing something to fortify you today, Miss.”

“That man should bottle his powers of perception and sell it,” said Phryne, propping herself up on her pillows as Dot set the tray across her lap. “In fact, maybe we should have him out on some cases with us. What do you think?”

“I think Mr B would rather spend time polishing the silver than examine dead bodies.” Dot pulled open the drapes and Phryne squinted against the blinding sun of what already felt like a brutishly hot day. 

“Oh I don’t know,” she said, cutting her eggs into little pieces. “I believe our butler is something of a dark horse. Undiscovered crime fighting talents and what not. What’s this?” Between the teapot and cup was propped an envelope with her name and address on it.

“A telegram, Miss. Delivery boy dropped it off this morning.”

Phryne held the envelope between thumb and forefinger as if it was a dead rat she’d found in the kitchen. Her family being what it was, her experience of telegrams was rarely a happy one; either her father looking for money, or her mother looking for her father.

“It’s maybe not as bad as all that,” said Dot, though she eyed the telegram with equal suspicion.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” said Phryne, and with a deep breath, tore the end from the envelope, extracting the thin slip of paper inside with the carefulness of Mac removing evidence from a corpse’s mouth. “Oh, it’s from Lin!” she said, her mood lightening considerably. Her pleasure wasn’t born, however, of those old feelings of lust and attraction, but from a genuine desire to hear how her friend was doing. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d gone off to start his new life as head of his family with Camellia, and she wasn’t sure what part of Australia he’d found himself in since then. It was good to hear word from him. A telegram though? It would hardly be filled with niceties or news of their wedding.

ALPHA CRUCIS STOP STATION PIER STOP FRIDAY 16TH NOVEMBER STOP COME AT ONCE STOP HELP NEEDED STOP LIN CHUNG

“Dot, be a dear and get the Detective Inspector on the telephone. It looks like we’re going to sea.”

***

“The answer is no, Miss Fisher.” Jack Robinson pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus on the report he was writing up from the notes in his book and not the trouser-clad legs currently crossed atop his desk. The onslaught had been going on for at least twenty minutes.

“You know, some would consider this a dereliction of your civic duties.”

“And some would say that attending to the whims of your former… beau… would hardly be considered my civic duties.”

Phryne made an exasperated noise – _she_ had the nerve to be exasperated – and said, “He’s hardly that.”

“Former?” said Jack.

“My beau!” replied Phryne, hopping off the desk to brace her hands on each arm of his chair, hemming him in. He leaned back as far as he could and slid a glance toward Hugh Collins, who was scrutinising the telegram rather too studiously and looking more than a little uncomfortable. _You have no idea, Constable,_ thought Jack. “All I’m asking, Jack, is that you find out what you can about this ship—”

“That’s not—”

“—and tell me if there have been reports of anyone aboard dying in suspicious circumstance.” She straightened and shrugged as if it was the simplest request in the world.

Jack turned out his palms. “Why would you automatically assume someone has been murdered?”

“Well why else would Lin ask me to help him?” Jack quirked an eyebrow and flattened his lips. “Oh, don’t be vulgar, Jack. Mr Lin is a married man now.”

Throwing down his pen, Jack finally accepted that his report was not going to be written today. He ignored the vague feeling of relief, not only at the fact Phryne didn’t think Lin was inviting her for a liaison, but because, despite her relaxed approach to social mores, having a dalliance with a married man apparently wasn’t in her repertoire. It was one of those contradicting things about her that kept him continuously surprised. He sighed and turned to Collins. “Constable, make a call to the Port Authority and see what you can find out.” Collins nodded and exited the room a little too eagerly. Jack turned back to Phryne. “If any deaths take place aboard ship, they are required to radio it through and return to the nearest port.” 

“And if they haven’t?”

“Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?” he replied, though even he didn’t believe his words. As long as Phryne Fisher was around, he would always have something to worry about.

***

“The _Alpha Crucis_ is a passenger cruise ship,” read Jack from the file in his hand. It was Thursday at 4:45 pm and they were in Phryne’s parlour. The drink she’d poured him sat untouched on the mantelpiece; one of these days she would get Jack Robinson roaring drunk and watch that perfect façade crumble just a little. “Are you even listening to me?” said Jack, bringing her back from the unexpected chain of thought that image had led her down.

“Of course I’m listening!” she replied, a little too loudly.

“I should hope so after you hounded me for this information.”

“Oh, but I do enjoy hounding you, Detective Inspector.”

Jack cleared his throat and frowned in a delightful way and continued reading from the file. “The ship is privately owned and specialises in romantic—” He said that with a slight derisive tone. “—holidays for newlyweds—”

Phryne brightened and clapped her hands together. “Oh, do you think Lin and Camellia are on their honeymoon?” She bit her lip and quietened when Jack pinned her with a withering glare.

“Romantic holidays for newlyweds,” he continued, “and left Tasmania last Saturday. No deaths have been reported.” He slapped the folder shut. “And as far as I can tell, no suspicious activity has taken place. Perhaps the telegram was quite straightforward in its intentions and your Mr Lin isn’t quite so averse to extra-marital entanglements as you are.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” she said, slouching back in her chair and folding her arms. “Lin isn’t the sort of person prone to dramatics. He wouldn’t send a plea for help unless it was serious.”

“So what would you propose we do?”

Phryne allowed herself a slight grin and looked up through her lashes at Jack. “We?”

With a resigned sigh, Jack said, “Well, I’m here now. I don’t think I could bear the suspense if I didn’t see how this one turns out.”

“Your devotion to civic duty does you credit, Detective Inspector.”

“Yes,” said Jack, lifting his glass from the mantel, though all he did was scrutinise the contents. “Civic duty. That’s it. So, in the absence of anything that might present itself as a crime, how do you propose to solve this mystery? I assume you do have a plan.”

“Oh Jack, of course I have a plan.” She rose and went to stand before him, casting her eye up and down his sombre grey suit. “Though it will involve you packing a bag.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” she said, “will you marry me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our happy couple set off on their maiden voygae - but Jack isn't entirely onboard.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and lovely comments on Chapter 1. Hope you enjoy this installment :)

Jack still didn’t quite understand exactly how he’d been roped in to this. He remembered Miss Fisher proposing to him in her parlour and then, perhaps taking advantage of his stunned silence, she’d summoned Mr Butler to accompany him home and help him pack for a sea voyage. Now it was Friday morning and he was standing on the Station Pier dock, staring up at a twin-funnelled steamship that sat bright against a blue summer sky. And it seemed, for the sake of appearances, he was ‘married’. “This is the stupidest escapade you’ve ever persuaded me to take part in,” he muttered to Phryne.

 

“Don’t be silly, Jack. I’ve persuaded you to take part in much…” She trailed off and pressed a finger to her chin, eyes skyward. “No, I do believe you’re right. This is the stupidest. I can’t quite believe you went for it.”

Jack was left to gape at her admission as she sauntered up the gangway, calling to the man who stood on deck. “Lin! How delightful to see you at last, darling. You look magnificent.” She extended her hands and the handsome Chinese man took them, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

Bert plodded up beside Jack, struggling to keep their luggage (Jack’s single Gladstone and Phryne’s trunk, hatbox and gold inlaid vanity case) balanced on the cart he’d managed to commandeer. “Um, Miss Fisher,” he called after her, “where should I put…?”

Jack cast him a sympathetic smile and shook his head; it was a wasted effort to try and attract Phryne Fisher’s attention when she was occupied with a handsome man. “I dunno about you, Bert, but I’ve found it’s best to just wait and see where she settles before approaching.”

“Yep,” said the man, setting his cart down and thrusting his ubiquitous fag-end behind his ear. “Kinda like a butterfly.”

Jack almost laughed aloud at such unexpected poetry from the gruff commie. “A butterfly, sure,” he replied. “Or a car wreck. Stick the bags on the deck, would you, Bert? We’ll see you in five days… I hope.” He set off towards Phryne and Lin Chung, leaving Bert to sort out the bags.

“Detective Robinson,” said Lin, his pristine smile annoyingly sincere. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to our assistance. I knew of no one else to turn to but Phryne.”

Jack shook Lin’s hand. “I have to say, Mr Lin, I’m still at a loss to understand why you might need assistance in the first place.”

“There’s been a disappearance,” whispered Phryne, looking around as if the port workers were listening to her every word and not simply carrying on about their business. “From the ship. A couple have gone missing.”

“Have they?” Jack imbued those two words with as much cynicism as he could muster. “And yet there was not a word in the thorough investigation I made of this vessel.”  


“Thorough?” said Phryne. “You phoned an acquaintance of yours at the Port Authority. I hardly call that rigorous.”

“But your reliance on supposition and hearsay is?”

“It’s what’s known as an open mind.”

“It’s what I’d call an easily led mind.”

“Jack Robinson, I will not—“

They were interrupted by a clearing of the throat from Lin Chung. Jack sniffed and looked away. He wasn’t entirely against looking in to this matter, but the basic premise of Miss Fisher’s plan still had him more jittery than a possum crossing a river full of crocs.

“I realise this might seem like a wild goose chase, Inspector, but I assure you I have sufficient reason to believe something sinister has happened here.”

Against his better judgement – or perhaps because of it – Jack nodded. The man seemed sincere. “Then I suppose Miss Fisher and I should join you and your wife to find out why. And, Mr Lin, under the circumstances I think you’d better call me Jack.” He cast a look at Phryne. ‘Inspector’ won’t exactly help our cover, will it?”

Lin bowed his head in acknowledgement, though his eyes also slid towards Phryne, Jack noticed, and his smile seemed a little less genuine. “In that case, I’ll leave you both to get… settled. I’d be delighted if you could join us in the dining salon around seven. Camellia and I can tell you what we know.”

“We’d be delighted, Lin,” said Phryne. The man headed back up the deck and they both watched him go.

“Accepting dinner invitations for me now, Miss Fisher?”

“Of course I am, darling,” she replied, turning and resting her hand against his chest. “I mean we are married now.” And there it was. The most foolish, disturbing, implausible part of this plan: that he and Phryne would pretend to be newlyweds to finagle themselves onto this voyage. The implications of it all sent him reeling, until he retreated to a safe corner of his mind to avoid dealing with the unsettling images that notion roused. “And you really have to stop calling me Miss Fisher in public,” she hissed. “I’m supposed to be your wife. You’re about to divest me of my virtue on our wedding night, so I hardly think a pretence at chastity is appropriate.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pretend at chastity, _Phryne_ ,” he said, trying to quench the sudden dryness of his throat.

She drew back and he thought for a horrible moment that he’d offended her. “Is that judgement, Jack?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Merely observation.”

Phryne pursed her lips and nodded, as if acknowledging the truth. “In that case, allow me an observation. If you really do wish to maintain our cover, you can’t wear that.”

Jack looked down at his staple attire of wool suit and trench-coat. “What’s wrong with it?”

Phryne quirked a lip and said, “Normally, nothing. In fact, I find it rather dashing. But you could not look more like a policeman if you donned Constable Collins’ helmet and blues. Come here.”

She drew him forward by the lapels and pushed the trench coat off his shoulders, gathering it up from the deck and throwing it on to their pile of luggage. Then she stood back and gave him a once over. “The jacket,” she said, gesturing with her hand.

For a moment, Jack thought to protest, but he couldn’t deny her expertise in the matter of clothes. One of the reasons Jack liked his simple cut suits and sombre tones was that it removed the element of choice; he didn’t know what he might end up looking like if he decided to get adventurous, and so perhaps those sorts of decisions were best left to the ever-elegant Phryne. He took off his jacket and tossed it to join his coat.

“Roll up your sleeves,” ordered Phryne.

“My…? Am I unblocking a drain?”

Phryne raised an eyebrow. “Jack.”

He sighed and complied, turning his shirt sleeves up to the elbow. When he looked back at Phryne she had an inscrutable smile on her face and seemed focused on his forearms. He turned them back and forth to see what she might be finding so noteworthy.

“Stop that,” she said, with uncharacteristic sternness. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Though he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was supposed to be stopping, he dropped his arms to his sides and let her gaze rove over him. Loathe as he was to admit it, he didn’t exactly mind her scrutiny.

“You look uncomfortable, Jack,” she said, though her grin said his discomfort wasn’t exactly giving her pause.

He shifted a little, aware of other passengers moving around them, casting them curious glances. “I’m not used to women examining me so intently.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe.” Before he could ask what she meant by that, she’d moved on to the matter at hand. “No, it’s still not right,” she said.

“Is it the waistcoat? I suppose you want me to take that off too.” He started to undo the four buttons down the front of his waistcoat, but paused when Phryne waved a hand.

“No, keep the waistcoat. I like it. It fits you well.” She looked up at him then, the ghost of something entirely unprofessional flitting across her face; it seldom boded well when she had a look like that. “I know what it is,” she drawled, slinking towards him across the deck. Jack fought to hold his ground. “You’re altogether far too tied in knots,” she said, and her hands slid up his chest to tug on his tie, pulling the knot apart. 

Jack reached up and grasped her wrists. “I thought we had already spoken about this,” he growled, low so that no one around could hear; it didn’t stop the glances.

“But that was before we were married, Jack,” she replied, in an equally low tone. He could feel her breath gusting across his cheek. “Let me?”

Half reluctantly, half in anticipation, he let go and she continued with her slow undress of him, right there on the deck. The tie slid free and her deft fingers flicked the top two buttons of his shirt open. Phryne stood back to inspect her work, winding his tie around her fists like she was about to throttle someone with it. “There,” she said, with a smile of admiration. “You look like quite the carefree chap. I see now why I married you.”

Jack swallowed and tucked his hands in his pockets for want of something better to do with them, glancing down at his state of disassembly. A light breeze swirled through the summer heat and stirred the hairs on his arms. Part of him felt bizarre, like he was caught out in society in his smalls; another part felt unburdened, like she had lifted a weight from him, though it was only a coat and suit jacket. At least she hadn’t asked him to dress like a roman centurion.

“Do you mind, really?” she asked, and the question seemed genuine. “I didn’t mean to take liberties. If you’d rather—”

Jack reached out and stopped her hand as she made to lift his coat again. “I daresay I can endure a little casual dressing… Mrs Robinson.” He quirked his lips, feeling a thrill of pleasure when she returned his smile.

“You know, I’m still not entirely happy that we didn’t book this trip under Mr and Mrs Fisher,” she said.

“Grant me some pretence at masculine control, Phryne,” said Jack, threading her arm over the crook over his elbow and leading her further up the deck. “Now maybe we should find our quarters.”

“Ah yes,” said Phryne, “about that, Jack…”

And Jack knew then that this trip had plenty more surprises in store.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has a little coaxing to do, to assure Jack that her intentions are nothing but honorable.

No matter how long she lived, Phryne Fisher didn’t think she would ever fathom the discomfiture of men when it came to matters that might allude to the pleasures of the boudoir. “Tip the boy, for God’s sake, Jack,” she muttered to her pretend husband, who was stood frozen, staring at what was, to all intents and purposes, their marital bed. Without a word, Jack reached into his pocket and withdrew a half crown, flipping it to the young steward who looked up long enough from his scrutiny of the carpet to catch the coin and make a hasty exit. 

When the door was closed, Jack finally found his voice, “Um, I can sleep on the, uh…” He looked around the room as if searching for some means of escape. “There’s no sofa,” he said, in the same way the passengers of the Titanic might have said “there are no lifeboats”.

Phryne set to work making herself at home, unpacking her vanity case in the little en suite bathroom. “It’s not that big a berth, Jack,” she said. “We have a bed and two chairs. Quite sufficient for a honeymoon, I should think.”

Finally, Jack seemed to come back to himself. “Might I remind you, Miss Fisher, that we are not actually on honeymoon. Or married. Or even…” He waved his hand at the bed.

“Would it help if I said I trust you not to ravish me as we sleep?”

“And could I expect the same promise from you?”

Phryne bit her lip to prevent bursting into laughter, because Jack’s discomfort was just all too amusing to witness. “I assure you, Inspector,” she said, with all the seriousness she could muster, “I require explicit consent from the other party before I do any ravishing.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Jack, and she realised she might have gone too far. “Where the bloody hell is my coat?”

Phryne darted between him and the door. “Jack… Jack,” she held out her hands to placate him. “I’m sorry. I’m only teasing, I promise. You just need to relax a little bit.” Gesturing to the bed, she said, “We’re both adults. And professionals. I mean, if we were going bush, we’d sleep closer than this, wouldn’t we? Why don’t you pretend that’s what we’re doing?”

“Alright,” said Jack, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, “I can do that, I suppose. Apart from the fact I have never actually gone bush. Have you?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Truthfully, no. Far too many…” She was loathe to say the ‘S’ word. “… creepy crawlies out there. But I have slept in a tent in Myriam Mackenzie’s backyard when I was twelve.”

“And how is that the same?” asked Jack, his tone verging on desperate.

“It’s not, but I’m just hoping to distract you from the fact that you may have to lie down next to me so that we can both sleep tonight.”

“When you put it like that it sounds silly.”

“It is silly, Jack. Can we perhaps cross that bridge when we come to it?” Phryne knew, though, that that particular bridge was ramshackle and made of frayed rope. She wasn’t sure what would happen if they both set foot on it. Thankfully, Jack seemed happy to focus on something else.

“Alright,” he said, picking up his small bag from the floor. “The more immediate issue is that we’ve been invited to dinner in the first-class lounge and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Ah, now that’s where you’ll find my preparations for this trip expert and thorough.” She pulled open her trunk, raking through the various evening gowns and day-dresses to find what she was looking for.

“As open-minded as I try to be in your company, Miss Fisher,” said Jack, peering over her shoulder, “I draw the line at dressing in women’s clothing.”

Phryne cast him an impish look. “Let’s save that for another occasion, shall we, darling? Anyway, I have something altogether more decorous in mind,” she said, pulling out the hanger she sought. “Here!” 

Jack gaped at the perfectly tailored evening wear she held up: black swallow-tail jacket and trousers, and white double-breasted waistcoat. He took it from her, holding it up to the light from the window and rubbing his thumb across the material of the jacket. His apparent admiration turned into a frown suddenly and he said, “Where did you get this?” 

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was wondering if the suit was one of her old lovers’ cast-offs. “Luckily, my father is an old acquaintance of Roger Putnam of _Putnam & Sons._ I asked him for a favour.” She walked over to Jack and held out the arm of the jacket, scrutinising the finely stitched seams “I mean it’s off-the-rack and I had to guess your measurements – that part was rather fun – but it’ll do the job for this evening.”

Jack shook his head, a faint smile on his lips, and he seemed more affected by the gesture than she had anticipated. She wanted to tell him that she’d only done it for the sake of the job at hand, knowing that he’d never have thought this far ahead, but the truth was she’d derived more pleasure from the shopping trip than quite fit the description ‘fun’. She spent more time than was strictly going through the tailor’s collection of ready-to-wear suits, examining the tailoring across the back and picturing how it might sit on Jack’s shoulders, discussing with Mr Putnam the measurements she thought would fit him perfectly. The shopping trip had not been a casual excursion because buying clothes for a man was possibly one of the most innocent yet intimate things you could to for him. It was hard to deny the thrill of satisfaction at watching him admire her choice for him. She ducked her head so that he wouldn’t see the fond smile that she thought might shame her. _Don’t thank me, Jack. Don’t make this more than it should be, because I don’t know what I might do_.

But Jack, it seemed, had followed a different line of thought. “What about --” Anticipating his question, Phryne whipped her hand from behind her back and held up a pair of leather Oxfords. “—shoes?” he finished lamely. “You really have thought of everything, Miss Fisher.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she said, deflecting from the schoolgirl blush she was sure must be creeping up her face; it had been so long since she’d blushed, she’d forgotten what it felt like – and to be doing so over a suit, for pity’s sake! “Otherwise you would never have let me back into that guard’s carriage on the Ballarat train.”

“And God only knows what my life would be like now if you’d actually gone back to your compartment like I wanted you to.” He folded the evening suit over his arm. “Thank you, Miss….” he began, and then broke off with a sheepish grin. “Thank you, Phryne,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. The moment stretched and Phryne found herself returning his smile, before shaking herself and turning back to rake through the gowns again.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Jack. It’s just a suit,” she said, though when it came to hiding the note of pleasure in her voice, she was almost certain she failed miserably. She selected a seagreen satin dress with beaded chiffon overlay from the rack, and a peacock feather headdress from one of the trunk’s little drawers. Then she turned back to Jack and gestured towards the cabin’s adjoining door. “Now, if you don’t mind, Inspector, you can get changed in the bathroom and I’ll take the cabin. I do have some modicum of modesty.”

Jack rolled his eyes, the faint smile still on his lips, and headed for the bathroom. “In that case, I promise not to peek.”

Phryne smiled. Though there was, perhaps, a crime to be solved here, she was rather looking forward to this trip.

***

It was a slightly bemused Jack Robinson who readied himself for dinner, as late afternoon stretched into a warm, sullen evening. Two long blasts from the _Alpha Crucis’_ horn had signalled them leaving port and moments later he’d felt the floor shift beneath him as the vessel slid out of dock, heading north-east, to Sydney, and then onward around the Gold Coast to Brisbane. 

He hadn’t travelled by ship since the long voyage back from France, and he was glad they would be skirting the coast, rather than heading too far out into open waters; that sickness was like nothing he’d experienced before or since. It didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t feeling something of a flutter in his stomach, but it had little to do with any sea-sickness and almost everything to do with the suit that hung on the back of the bathroom door.

Reluctant as he was to call it a gift - he knew it was all in the interests of the job at hand - something about her gesture struck him as, well, thoughtful. He’d known for some time, of course, that Phryne Fisher, despite her devil-may-care approach to life – and love – was one of the kindest, most selfless, people he’d ever met. What other woman would take in a woman falsely accused of theft and, ridiculous as it seemed now, murder, and make her, not only her ladies’ companion, but her friend and condfidante? Or save a young girl raised to a life of crime and adopt her as her own? Jack was under no illusion that Phryne was far more soft-hearted than she might want people to believe.

And therein lay the trouble: Phryne Fisher was a complicated woman to have in one’s life and Jack would do well to remember that. He stared again at the fine suit of clothes as he undressed. This was a job and the suit was a uniform, he told himself. Nothing more to it than that. Even if the circumstances of the case were a little unusual. He was a grown man and quite capable of controlling the situation. Best to focus on the matters at hand. And the matter at hand right now was getting himself ready to interview Mr and Mrs Lin.

He turned in the cramped space to find, instead of a bath, a contraption that he’d heard of but never actually seen: a shower. The closest he’d come to anything like it was in the war, during periods of furlough, when they swapped the trenches for nearby barns, but that was normally water sloshed from a bucket over your head as you rubbed a hard sliver of soap over your skin and tried not to freeze to death. This however…

A turn of the taps produced a hard spray from the metal showerhead, which soon had the little room steamed up with glorious hot water. And when Jack stood underneath… Good God, the bliss! As he lathered the fine-smelling soap over his skin, he found that he had a sudden urge to sing, and had to press his lips together so as not to give in to that temptation. He could have stayed under this heavenly fountain all day, but a great rumble foreboded something grim, and it was just as he reached for the tap that the spray suddenly came in choking fits and starts, the water turning icy. Jack leapt from the shower just as the flow of water ceased altogether.

A rapid knock sounded at the door. “Jack? What on earth was that noise?” In the next moment, he was grateful for those reflexes that responded to sudden danger, for he’d only just grabbed the bathsheet that hung on the wall and wrapped it around his waist, when the door opened and Phryne’s head ducked through. “I heard… Oh.” She said that last with a devil’s leer and a slow appraisal of his half-naked form, as he clutched the towel closed at his hip.

“It… it was the shower,” he said, pushing his wet hair back from his face. “I think there’s something wrong with it.”

“Really? Oh that is a shame. I was looking forward to a shower after dinner.” She pushed her way into the tiny room to look at the contraption, turning the handle this way and that, without any luck. Jack found himself pressed up against the sink, fighting to keep the towel… and a few other things… in place; Phryne was wearing her satin robe and, from what he could make out from its form skimming material, very little else underneath. “Do you think we should call the ship’s handyman?”

“Miss Fisher,” he said, his voice turned a little rough.

“What?” She straightened and looked at him in a way that was almost guileless. Then she looked down and the moment froze in time. Jack was aware of every heightened sensation. He saw a droplet of water escape from a wet curl of hair that had fallen across his forehead, felt it drip on to his chest to join the others that were trickling down his body. He breathed in, talking through in his head the notes of the most mundane case he could remember – a robbery in a baker’s, five sacks of flour stolen from the back room, twelve pounds and six shillings taken from the safe, a subtle scent of vanilla that he’d learned was something called _Shalimar_ — No! That wasn’t what he was supposed to be thinking about.

“Phryne, please,” he said and it was almost a whisper. He didn’t quite know what he was pleading for.

But rather than fuss and tease as he thought she might do, Phryne Fisher merely said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean… sorry,” and left the little bathroom. Jack let go the breath he was holding and dropped his head back against the mirror.

“Just a job,” he muttered to himself. “Just another job.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne have trouble putting to rest the tension between them, as they begin to discover that there's something ugly lurking the sophisticated facade of the _Alpha Crucis_.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying my story. I'm so happy to find that this lovely show has such an active fandom. Hope you like this chapter.

Mr and Mrs Jack Robinson were the picture of marital harmony when they presented themselves in the first-class dining salon a short time later. To all appearances, it was a grand room, with high ceilings from which hung ornate chandeliers. Waiters flowed this way and that as if in a choreographed routine, seating well-dressed guests at table bedecked with cutlery for at least five courses. These strangers inclined their heads at them with seemingly cordial smiles, but Phryne knew every inch of her and Jack’s manner and dress was being dissected to determine if they were deserving of entry to such quality surroundings, or if something was, in fact, amiss. _Let them_ , thought Phryne. There were a few things she had already found amiss.

One of those things was the mood of her companion. It was only because her hand lay in the crook of his elbow that Phryne could sense the tension beneath Jack’s expression of equanimity. She knew she really should do something to ease the awkwardness between them but, for the life of her, she could not summon any of her usual pert quips. And she sensed Jack wouldn’t appreciate it if she did. Instead, she focused on the job in hand and that was finally getting Lin and Camellia on their own to gather information about this case.

“Mrs Robinson,” called Lin, his adoption of their cover story seamless, as he wove through the white linen-clad tables to greet them. “I’m delighted you could join us. You look beautiful as always. And Jack, might I say how well you look too.”

Phryne could only agree. Jack, however, shifted a little beneath her light touch; he never was comfortable with compliments. “Thank you for your invitation, Mr Lin,” he said. “I was wondering if we could have a chat before dinner.” Phryne did her best to hide a grin; all business was her Detective Inspector. “I have a few questions I’d like –”  


But any further interrogation was forestalled by the arrival of the Maître D’. “Mr and Mrs Robinson, welcome to the _Alpha Crucis_. We hope you will enjoy the voyage. Mr Lin, Captain O’Hanlon would be delighted if you and your party would do him the honour of joining him at his table for dinner this evening.”

Expecting an equally polite acceptance of what was, to all intents and purposes, an invitation of some merit aboard ship, she was surprised when a look of displeasure past quickly across Lin’s face, hastily disguised. She squeezed Jack’s arm and he gave a brief nod; he’d noticed the reaction too. “Please pass on my thanks to the Captain for his kind offer,” said Lin, “but I’m afraid my wife—”

“Is already seated at the table,” said the man, a little too presumptuously in Phryne’s book. He turned and gestured with his arm towards the table at the head of the room. “Right this way, sirs, madame.” They were left with little choice but to follow if they didn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of the dining salon.

Of the ten places around the table, three of them were empty, awaiting their arrival; the five men already seated stood to greet them, and Phryne made a sweeping assessment in the few seconds when handshakes were exchanged and knuckles kissed. A distinguished looking man with a white moustache who was obviously the captain, a rotund gentleman whose diamond-studded signet ring likely cost more than the Hispano Suiza, a stern-faced looking young man who made a show of glancing at his watch as if to silently reprimand them for their timekeeping (they were only fifteen minutes late for dinner and there had been a drama to deal with after all), a fashionably-dressed woman who was trying and failing to hide a yawn behind her hand. There was also a genial looking couple who both looked to be middling sixties and, of course, Camellia.

“Camellia, my dear, I’m so happy to see you again,” said Phryne, with genuine pleasure. “How have you been?”

“I have been most… contented, Miss Fisher,” replied the woman, with a shy glance at her husband. Now that was interesting; despite the demure exterior she had presented while staying at The Esplanade, Phryne knew there was nothing timid about this woman.

“But it’s surely Mrs Robinson, is it not?” That came from the man with the signet ring, who had introduced himself as Henry Cavendish, Baron of Keighley; it was a voice that somehow sounded like a bellow, even though its volume was probably the same as that of normal conversation. “What’s this ‘Miss Fisher’ nonsense?”

Though she bridled at having her name labelled ‘nonsense’, she smiled sweetly and took Jack’s hand, thankful that he didn’t pull away out of sheer pettiness. “Of course it’s Mrs Robinson, though we did only get married this morning, so I have to confess even I’m still getting used to having my darling husband’s name. I still can’t believe how lucky I am.” She draped her hands over Jack’s shoulder and gazed at him with utter adoration. The outrageous simpering was worth it to see the twitch in the hollow of Jack’s cheek; she was never sure if it was purely irritation or amusement, or a combination of both, but she always derived some enjoyment from it anyway.

“Won’t you sit down, darling,” said Jack, with stoic sufferance. The head waiter moved to pull out a chair for Phryne, however Jack got there first. “My dear,” he said, with a smile that seemed full of husbandly admiration on the surface, but now Phryne could definitely see the smirk below. Hopefully this meant Jack was in a more forgiving mood than he had been earlier; they were about to go into battle, she sensed, and she would need her most trusted ally.

“Thank you, my love,” she replied. 

“Oh, they’re newlyweds, Ned. Isn’t that lovely? Doesn’t it take you back to our honeymoon?” The older lady who sat on the other side of Jack clutched that arm of her husband – Mr and Mrs Pearce, Phryne recalled from the jumble of introductions. “Where did you get married, my dear?” she said to Phryne.

Phryne leaned forward, ready with a story about a grand ceremony at the Melbourne Anglican Church, with her Vionnet dress, and bouquet of noisette roses and baby’s breath. But she found herself cut off with an abrupt, “The Treasury Building. Very quick,” he said, then added as if for clarification when the older couple looked at him askance, “Painless.”

He glanced over at Phryne, who quirked a quizzical eyebrow. _Painless?_ she mouthed, and he shrugged; he truly was awful at this, and she didn’t think it was down to any fit of pique – not all of it anyway. Jack Robinson was at his best when he had the weight of his position behind him, like a shield; he didn’t do well with obfuscation. Best to move on, and quickly.

“Captain O’Hanlon,” she said, turning to their host, “it’s most kind of you to welcome us to your table.”

“Any friend of Lin’s is a friend of ours. Isn’t that right, Cavendish?” He clapped the man to his right on the shoulder.

“Hmm? Oh yes, quite right, quite right,” said the Baron. He took a hefty draft of his wine before adding, “Even if he has been making a damnable nuisance of himself for the past few days.”

“A nuisance?” said Jack, as the waiter filled his glass. “I can hardly fathom that.” There was an acerbic note to his voice that Phryne didn’t quite appreciate.

Lin looked ready to argue the point with Cavendish, but instead Camellia spoke. “My husband has merely been concerned for the welfare of some recent acquaintances of ours, Mr Robinson. A Mr and Mrs William Forbes. They left the ship with some haste without saying goodbye.”

“It was urgent business, wasn’t it?” said the stern-faced man, Professor James Sutherland. He picked up his fish fork and scrutinised it, before tugging a kerchief from his top pocket and giving it a thorough polish. His wife – the fashionable lady sitting across the table from him rolled her eyes and yawned again. “That’s what you said, Cavendish. Mr Forbes had urgent business in Tasmania.”

Cavendish clicked at the waiter and gestured to his empty glass. “So I’m led to believe. Forbes didn’t go in to detail. But Mr Lin here seems to think there are other nefarious circumstances afoot.” The man’s eyes slid towards Lin, his expression taking on a rather hostile quality. “He’s spent too much time with low people in the back alleys of Shanghai. This is the _Alpha Crucis_ , Mrs Robinson. One of the most illustrious cruise ships on the Australian south coast. Polite society such as this has nothing to hide.”

“If that truly is your opinion, Lord Cavendish,” replied Phryne, “then I don’t think you’ve spent enough time in polite society.” All eyes at the table turned towards her: Cavendish outraged, Captain O’Hanlon disapproving, Professor Sutherland looking like he hadn’t understood a word and his wife just looked bored. Lin and Camellia were barely concealing their amusement, and Jack was… inscrutable. 

Only Mr Pearce gave a guffaw of laughter and raised his glass in her direction. “Quite right, Mrs Robinson, quite right! Did you hear the girl, my dear?” he said to his wife. “Not enough time in polite society.” Mrs Pearce chuckled in a way that was almost girlish, and she and her husband bent towards one another in conspiratorial manner that had Phryne almost envying their familiarity with one another.

“Regardless,” said the captain, trying to restore some semblance of order to the table, “Mr and Mrs Forbes’ business is their own. Poring over their actions as if there were some lurid gossip to be had is rather distasteful in my book. Now perhaps we can enjoy dinner and hear no more about it.”

Phryne sat back in her seat and sipped her wine as bowl of what looked to be Vichyssoise was placed in front of her. Lin and Camellia exchanged a glance, and Phryne saw now why her friend had been so reluctant so join the captain and his friends for dinner; there was some tightly-woven intrigue to be unpicked here indeed. She would have exchanged a similar glance with Jack, she thought, but he kept his eyes resolutely on his plate. Apparently, she still wasn’t forgiven and would be left to negotiate these shark-infested waters herself.

***

Jack was being petty. He knew that even as he and Phryne had made their way through the _Alpha Crucis’_ myriad corridors in almost total silence, besides the occasional murmured greeting to their fellow guests. By the time they got to the dining salon, he realised he was taking it too far, but wasn’t quite sure how to end the uncomfortable awkwardness that had settled between them. That wasn’t normally his job; on previous occasions, Phryne would have made a bawdy remark that would have him rolling his eyes and within a few minutes any antagonism between them would have been put to rest. 

Unfortunately, on this occasion, Miss Fisher was uncharacteristically reticent; he was going to have to navigate this spider’s web on his own and it was entirely his own damn fault. What did it matter that she’d walked in on him in the nuddy? Wasn’t he a grown man and not some green lad? He should, at least, be able to act professionally and approach this dinner for what it was: just another means of investigating a possible crime.

The problem, he knew, was that he was all too willing to rise – in the figurative sense – to her provocation. Phryne Fisher fed on the discomposure of others, and Jack Robinson seemed currently to be her preferred mark. If he’d had any sense, he’d have put her at a firm distance right after the Andrews’ case. If only she wasn’t so bloody good at criminal investigation. Jack just wished it didn’t always need to be so complicated.

After the incident in the bathroom, he’d determined that he would investigate this case on his own – Phryne Fisher was just a means to an end. Then she’d squeezed his arm to draw his attention to Mr Lin’s strange reaction to being invited to sup at the captain’s table; that was a subtlety he would have missed without her. Whether he liked it or not, she was an asset on this case. It didn’t mean he had to make merry with her and her friends. _Just a job, Jack. Just a job._

When she’d prodded at the pompous buffoonery of the Baron of Whatchamacallit, he’d bit his tongue to stop from reacting; he’d already made a fool of himself by blurting out some stupid story about where they’d got married. _Painless? For God’s sake, Jack._ Best he stuck with what he knew and avoided the showmanship of this ridiculous cover Phryne had chosen. It was time to ask some questions.

“What is your field of study, Professor Sutherland?” He sipped a spoonful of soup, trying not to choke when it turned out to be stone cold. Bloody rich people.  


“I lecture in experimental physics at the University of Queensland,” replied the man, the most animated Jack had seen him since they were introduced. “Although I’m currently writing a paper based on the work of Sir William Henry Bragg. It’s quite fascinating. You see—”

“Oh for God’s sake, James. No one but you thinks your work is fascinating,” said a bored, husky voice. The outburst from Mrs Sutherland was all the more startling because Jack had quite forgotten she was there. Her only contribution to conversation thus far had been a bored perusal of her fellow diners, both at their table and the others around the room. Now that he had a chance to study her more closely, he saw that her eyes were quite bloodshot and the hand in which she held her spoon had a definite tremor.

“You look rather tired, my dear,” muttered Sutherland. “I’m sure none of our party would mind if you excused yourself to go back to our cabin for a rest.” Mrs Sutherland glared at her husband as the other guests at the table murmured non-committal words that neither agreed nor disagreed, for fear of offending one or the other of the couple. Eventually she threw down her spoon with enough of a clatter that people at the other tables turned to stare, before pretending not to be the slightest bit interested in the scene unfolding at the captain’s table. With a flounce of fine silk, the woman stomped from the table and the room, leaving an uneasy silence in her wake.

“Daresay you should go after her, old chap,” said Captain O’Hanlon at last.

“I hardly think--” began the professor.

O’Hanlon leant forward until he was inches from the man’s face, and said in a low but menacing voice, “Go after your wife, Sutherland. You don’t want her getting into any trouble now, do you?”

It looked like Sutherland was going to hold his ground, but then he broke eye contact with the captain, stood and bowed to the table. “My apologies, gentlemen, ladies. I’d best go see if my wife is feeling ok.”

Jack laid down his spoon, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and sat back in satisfaction. 

“Well done, darling,” purred a voice in his ear, too low for anyone else to hear, and he couldn’t resist exchanging a secret smile with Phryne. It was amazing what dirty laundry one simple question could uncover.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne try and focus on the case, ignoring all inconvenient distractions. Easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who is reading, and leaving kudos and feedback. It's great to see which parts you're enjoying (most of the time it's the parts I enjoyed writing!) Hope you enjoy Chapter 5 :)

The remainder of dinner was endured with stilted conversation and a pretence at pleasantries. Even the good natures of Mr and Mrs Pearce couldn’t make a dent in the ugly atmosphere that settled over the table. Phryne had never been so happy to see a dessert plates being cleared away.

“Well, this has been delightful,” she said to the table in general. She laid her hand on Jack’s arm. “But, Darling, I’m simply exhausted with all the excitement today.” Taking his cue, Jack stood to pull out her chair. If they left now, they could meet up somewhere with Lin and Camellia to find out more about the alleged disappearance of Mr and Mrs Forbes (for it was clear this was the couple whom Lin suspected had met a luckless fate).

Lin, it seemed, understood what was needed also. “Jack, Phryne, my wife and I would be delighted if you could join us in our suite for a nightcap. It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper chance to catch up.”

“Don’t be stupid, man,” bawled Cavendish. “It’s their wedding night, for pity’s sake. Don’t you think they’ve got better things to be getting on with that having sherry with you and your chit here.”

“My name is Madam Lu, Lord Cavendish,” said Camellia, “and I believe my husband was addressing Mr and Mrs Robinson, not you.”

Jack cleared his throat as Cavendish huffed in indignation. “I’m sure we’d be delighted to join you for a drink, Mr Lin.” The quartet made a hasty exit, saying polite goodbyes to their dinner companions, and warmer promises to meet the Pearce’s for breakfast the next day.

“Well that was ugly,” said Phryne as they hurried down the hallway.

Lin led them up some stairs to the upper decks. “We have tried to avoid that kind of company for as long as we’ve been onboard, but sometimes it’s impossible. When the Forbes’ were here it was almost unbearable.”

“I thought they were your friends,” said Jack.

“Oh hardly friends,” said Camellia. “They were as unpleasant as the rest of that little group – barring Mr and Mrs Pearce of course.”

“There is certainly no love lost between most of them,” added Lin. “In fact, that’s what first made me suspect something sinister might have happened to them.” They stopped at one of the doors along the corridor and Lin unlocked it. Phryne gasped when they entered; it was quite the suite. Besides the huge bed with sumptuous linen and pillows that looked like clouds, there was an area with a low coffee table, two comfortable armchairs and, yes, a sofa. Jack glanced at it and gave her a pointed look. 

But the furnishings weren’t nearly as impressive as what lay outside the two French doors that opened on to a small balcony. Lin opened them up, and Phryne and Jack walked outside while their hosts prepared drinks. Beyond the blackness of sea glittered the lights of the southern Australian coast, and above them arced an infinite expanse of stars. All around them, the world was quiet. When she turned to Jack, she saw that he too was watching the heavens with an expression a little bit like awe.

“I’ve never seen quite so many stars,” he murmured, and she wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to her or just lost in his own wonder.

“I’m not sure I have either,” she replied anyway. “I’ve spent too much time in towns and cities.”

“Too much progress,” said Jack. “Manmade light has left us blind.”

She leaned on the rail and breathed it in. “It's clearer in the countryside. Haven't you ever been, Jack?”

“No… Well, only in France. But that was…” He trailed off and shook his head. “It was nothing like this.” She didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. In France, the sky was made of smoke and dirt and reeking fog. No stars shone on the fields of Flanders.

She would have shared that with him then; a brittle thread of connection, of mutual remembrance, but the moment felt too fragile and she wasn’t yet sure if they were friends again. It would have been simpler, she thought, if she could just have acted on those baser instincts that had risen in her in the bathroom earlier. Those were straightforward and effortless; if a naked, attractive man got your pulse racing, and if said naked, attractive man was similarly inclined, you did what came naturally to you both. Once that itch was scratched, you moved on, without complication.

The problem was Jack Robinson was entirely complicated to her, a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. Despite her propensity to tease, she had long ago placed the Detective Inspector inside a box clearly labelled ‘DO NOT TOUCH’. To open that box would only cause a whole heap of trouble and it was trouble she could do without. Jack was a friend, an ally and a partner in solving crime, nothing more. 

But when she looked at him just then, his carefully combed hair picked apart by the sea breeze, the edges of him limned in moonlight, throat stretched taut as he tilted his head back to watch the skies above, she was struck by a startling notion. 

_I could be in danger here. I need to retreat before I fall too far._

“So, what can you tell us about the Forbes’?” asked Jack, making Phryne jump. She realised Lin had joined them on the balcony with their drinks. Jack looked at her askance as he took the glass of scotch, but she avoided his eye, embarrassed by her little reverie, and headed back into the cabin to join Camellia at the little lounge area.

“They were American,” said Lin, when the four of them were seated. “Catherine—Mrs Forbes—is the daughter of a shipping magnate, Charles Gallucio, in New York. Her husband, Edwin Forbes, is the VP of the company. According to Captain O’Hanlon, they left the ship when we docked in Tasmania.”

“And you doubt that story?” asked Phryne, glad to be back in the warmth of the cabin, away from that disquieting moment she’d had on the balcony. The sea air could put ridiculous ideas in one’s head it seemed.

Lin shrugged. “They’d spoken of their plans to spend time in Sydney. Why would they suddenly disembark at Tasmania without a word to anyone?”

“Plans often change,” said Jack. “You said yourself you were hardly friends. Perhaps they didn’t see the need to update you on the adjustment to their itinerary.”

Camellia shook her head. “It’s more than that. There was some bad blood between Catherine Forbes’ father and Lord Cavendish. They were very secretive about it, but I overheard an argument between them.”

“Overheard?” said Phryne with a raised eyebrow. 

Camellia gave an insolent little smile. “Sometimes it can be to one’s advantage when others who consider themselves superior overlook one’s existence. There was some sort of deal being proposed that Cavendish wasn’t happy about. He told Mr Forbes to go back to his father-in-law and…” She turned to Lin and said something in Mandarin that Phryne didn’t quite catch, but that sounded like a question.

Lin laughed. “I believe what Camellia heard roughly translates as ‘stick it where the sun doesn’t shine’”.

“Sounds like Mr Forbes’ proposal wasn’t well received.” asked Jack. “What was the offer, did you hear?”

“To buy Cavendish’s company. He owns the _Alpha Crucis_. And a number of other vessels.”

Of course, suddenly it made sense. “So _that’s_ why he has such an overblown sense of pride in this tub,” said Phryne. “And why he’s so friendly with the captain.”

“Overblown?” queried Jack.

She set down her drink and stood, leading the three of them back out into the corridor. It didn’t surprise her that Jack hadn’t noticed the few details that had made her question the brochure’s claim that the _Alpha Crucis_ was the most luxurious ship in all the Southern Ocean. He was a man who dealt in practicalities, refined in his own way, but if things were a little rough around the edges, it made no difference to him… and the truth was she admired him a little more for that. Two years at _Château Mont-Choisi_ finishing school in Switzerland, however, and her eye was honed to pick up on such minutiae. 

She crouched down and gestured to the paisley carpet in the hallway. “Look here,” she said, her fingers finding its edge and pulling it back a little to display the frayed edges. “And here.” She pointed to the seams of the wallpaper, where tears were beginning to show. “And those chandeliers in the dining salon? Almost half of their bulbs were out. This ship is showing more signs of wear and tear than one would expect from a vessel of any prestige.”

Jack crouched down beside her, frowning as he assessed the evidence for himself. 

“I hadn’t noticed it before,” said Lin, “but now that you’ve mentioned it, it’s not been the deluxe experience I was promised when I made our reservations. We haven’t even had hot water in our shower until this evening. The handyman arrived just as we were getting ready for dinner.”

“Yes,” said Phryne, with a sheepish look at Jack who was resolutely avoiding her eye. “We had some… um… problems in our bathroom as well.”

Clearing his throat, Jack stood again, considering the theory out loud. “So Mr Forbes, perhaps acting on behalf of his father-in-law, was trying to strongarm Cavendish into selling.” He shrugged. “If he’s in such bad shape financially, why not sell? Why do away with a possible means out of your circumstances?”

“Well, that’s another thing that starting to make sense,” said Phryne. “Lord Cavendish was introduced as the Baron of Keighley.”

“So?” asked Jack.

“So… there is no Baron of Keighley. It’s a made-up title. I’d put money on our Mr Henry Cavendish being a commoner who likes the appearance of grandeur.”

Jack tilted his chin. “How can you be so sure it’s a made-up title?”

Crossing her arms, Phryne stood almost toe to toe with him. “I’ve studied cover to cover every edition of _Debrett’s_ published since 1912. Would you question my knowledge of the peerage, Inspector?” It was a form of flirtation this, she knew that, but perversely it felt like safer ground than those strange thoughts she’d been having of him.

“I bow to your wisdom, Miss Fisher. But all that tells me is that he’s even more of a pompous buffoon than I originally thought. It doesn’t mean he murdered anyone. Or…” He threw his arms wide and gestured to their little group standing in the corridor. “… that anyone has been murdered. Show me a body, Miss Fisher. Show me any evidence that someone meant Mr and Mrs Forbes harm.”

Phryne was silent. He was correct, of course. Despite her gut instinct and her trust in Lin’s judgement, it was hard to solve a crime when no crime had presented itself.

“There is one other thing I should tell you,” said Camellia. They turned to look at her expectantly. “The last night we saw them was just before we docked in Tasmania. And they were sick.”

“Sick?” said Phryne.

“Yes, extremely sick. They had caused a bit of a scene at dinner. Mr Forbes was shouting at the waiter, complaining that the beef was like leather and the soup was awful—"

“I’d agree with them there,” muttered Jack.

Phryne shot him a look and Camellia continued. “Lord Cavendish stormed off from the table, and Mr and Mrs Forbes left just after dessert. But we met them on deck less than an hour afterwards. They were both in a terrible state.”

“I thought perhaps dinner hadn’t agreed with them,” picked up Lin. “We helped them back to their cabin where they said they were going to have a lie down and hopefully feel better in the morning.”

“But by the morning they were gone,” said Jack, and his voice had lost all scepticism. “Mr Lin, Madam Lu, I think you better show me and Miss Fisher exactly the cabin where they were staying.” He glanced at Phryne and she nodded; they were about to go to work it seemed. And she would do her damnedest to make sure no silly notions distracted her from here on in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clues start to pile up... and so does the tension. And finally, it's bedtime for Jack and Phryne ;)

Jack wasn’t sure what he expected to find inside Mr and Mrs Forbes’ cabin. He was reasonably certain, as he stood behind Phryne keeping watch while she jiggled her little tools in the lock, that it wouldn’t be their lifeless corpses; the smell for one would have been noticeable by now. He knew now, though, that something was very awry, despite his initial reluctance to accept Mr Lin’s word.

He was man enough to admit that a small, disagreeable and most unwelcome seed of jealousy prickled inside him when it came to Mr Lin Chung. Not because of the man’s money or looks or charming disposition – Jack was contented enough in himself that he didn’t covet any of those things. The only thing that Jack did wish he too could have was Lin’s easy way with Miss Fisher. 

They spoke like old friends, even though they’d only known each other for a few months, and were relaxed and open in each other’s company. When Jack was around Phryne, he felt like a score of outraged wasps were swarming beneath his skin; she had him on edge and skittish as a new born colt just by being in the same room.  


His refusal to believe Lin and Camellia’s insistence that something bad had happened to the Forbes’ was partly born from that unreasonable aversion to what Lin represented. With all the evidence, though circumstantial, presented to him now, he would be nothing but petty if he held to that scepticism.

He glanced down at Phryne, who was manoeuvring her lockpicks with the concentration of surgeon, just as a slight _click_ sounded, seeming loud in the empty corridor.

“ _Et voila!_ ” she said with a grin, and Jack couldn’t help but smile at her skill.

Inside, there was no sign of the Forbes’ bodies. There was, in fact, no sign of anything.

“It’s spotless,” said Phryne, with the same puzzlement he felt, pushing the door closed behind them. She walked around the cabin and began opening the drawers in the bedside cabinets. The room was on the same deck as Lin and Camellia’s, so the layout was almost identical, right down to the balcony. 

“I suppose we shouldn’t be too surprised,” said Jack. “If they had left the ship as Cavendish insists, then surely the maid would have been in to clean the room.”

“No,” said Phryne, running her palm over the furniture surfaces, “this is something else. Have you seen the dust in the corners of our cabin?” 

Something about the way she said “our cabin” sent a wicked pulse through him and he had to take a quelling breath before saying, “I have to say it’s not something I took note of.”

“Well it’s slipshod to say the least. The cleaning staff take as casual an approach to the cleanliness of this ship as the owner does to its maintenance. This cabin, though… this has been swept spotless.”

“Almost as if someone is trying to hide something,” said Jack. He looked around the room. “If that is the case, we’ll find nothing here. We should turn our attention elsewhere.”

“Agreed,” said Phryne. “If the Forbes’ got sick, then it’s a fair bet it was something slipped into their food. Why don’t we have a word with some of the dining salon staff in the morning?” Nodding at the decision, Jack turned for the door, but before he could open it, something on the floor glinted in the moonlight that streamed through the French doors. It was half hidden in the gap between the skirting board and the carpet, and he would have missed it if the moonlight hadn’t caught it just so. He bent down to pick it up. It was a tie pin.

He stood and both he and Phryne bent their heads together to examine it. “Looks Mr Forbes left something behind after all.”

“I don’t know,” said Phryne, her voice uncertain. “That setting of diamonds… it looks familiar. I can’t think where I’ve seen it before.”

“No matter who it belongs to, it might be evidence,” said Jack, plucking his handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrapping the pin in it. “Let’s get out of here and take a look at it back in the cabin.” Indeed there was another issue Jack needed to address when they had a moment to talk, and that was sleeping arrangements. That bridge to be crossed loomed ever closer and he thought it as well to deal with it head on; he suspected the only solution was for him to spend an uncomfortable night on the floor.

When they arrived back at the cabin, however, it seemed like talking would have to wait. “G’day, sir,” said the little man in their cabin, with a tug on the brim of his cap.  


“Um, g’day?” replied Jack, puzzled by the intruder’s genial manner; if he was here to rob them, he was being awfully friendly about it. 

Then the man held aloft a brown canvas bag and all became clear. “I’ve been told you’ve got a problem with the dunny,” he said.

“Oh, you’re here to fix the shower, Mr, umm…” said Phryne. 

Macleod,” replied the man. “Bob Macleod. You can just call me Bob.”

“Well, thank the lord you’re here, Bob. I couldn’t bear to go to bed without freshening up.”

The images that statement conjured didn’t bear thinking about and Jack pressed his eyes shut and took a breath. 

“So what’s problem with it?” said Bob.

“Well, my…uh… husband here was in the shower earlier and he had to leap out, soaking wet and–“

“The hot water turned cold,” interrupted Jack, and then turned to Phryne with a strained smile. “Mr Macleod doesn’t need to hear all the details… darling.”

Phryne only rolled her eyes. Her expression turned speculative suddenly, and she glanced sidelong at the handyman. Jack saw she had that look in her eye that said the game was still afoot.

***

It was Jack’s comment about the handyman hearing all the details that got Phryne thinking. Indeed, hadn’t Camellia also mentioned the advantage of being privy to secret conversations between those who considered you insignificant? The ordinary-looking little grey-haired man, in his brown coat, was exactly the sort of person who could go anywhere on the ship without anyone questioning, or even noticing him. Who knew what secrets he’d been privy to? “Mr Macleod, I daresay you’ve seen just about everything on this ship,” she said.

The old man chuckled. “That’d be right, Mrs. You’d hardly reckon what half of these toffs got up to.” His face fell and he straightened when he realised that he was likely talking to two such “toffs”. “I beg yer pardon, Mrs,” he added. 

“Don’t worry, Bob,” said Jack, with a raised eyebrow and pointed look at Phryne. “Sometimes I have a hard time understanding the behaviour of these toffs as well.”

Phryne was getting more than a little annoyed with Jack’s belligerence this evening; she didn’t know from one minute to the next if they were on the same side or if he was insisting on holding a grudge for her blundering in on him earlier. “And sometimes," she said, "these toffs find it more than a little tiresome when other people insist on taking everything so seriously.”

Jack tightened his jaw and she knew she’d scored a point. With a deliberately breezy smile, she turned back to Bob. “So tell me, Bob, did you see anything of Mr and Mrs Forbes when they were aboard?”

The man squinted at her. “Can’t say I know who you might be meaning, Mrs.”

“The American couple. Rather unpleasant by all accounts.”

Realisation dawned on Bob’s face. “Oh yes, broke cistern, Deck A, Cabin 304. Yeah, I recall them now, but I can’t say I had dealings with them in all honesty. Friends of yours, were they?”

“Sort of, yes. We were hoping to meet up with them onboard, but it seems they chose to leave early. Did you happen to see them leave the ship?”

Bob pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can’t say I did, Mrs. I keep myself to myself you understand. My Evelyn, God rest her, always said ‘fix your own business before you start minding that of others.’”

“Your Evelyn sounds like a wise woman,” said Jack. “Unfortunately, it’s sometimes hard to prevent having other people’s business thrust upon you.”

“She was wise, thank you sir. Married nigh on 40 years when the good Lord saw fit to take her from me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Bob. 40 years though!” said Phryne. She turned to Jack with a roguish grin, unable to keep from teasing, especially when he was in such a quarrelsome mood. “Did you hear that, darling? Do you think we’ll ever get to that number?”

“Let’s see if we can get past day one, shall we… my treasure?” That last was almost forced out through gritted teeth and Phryne had to admit, if he wasn’t going to be friendly then she was going to enjoy pushing all the buttons she knew he possessed.

“Oh, you’re newlyweds,” said Bob, with that same delighted expression the Pearce’s had shown. “In that case, I do beg your pardon. Let me get this plumbing sorted and I’ll get out your way. Leave you to it.” He said that with a wink at Jack, who coughed and tugged at his bow tie.

“No rush, Bob,” he said. “Take whatever time you need. No sense in leaving a job half done.” The handyman’s cheeky little smile turned into one of puzzlement and Phryne felt like leaping across the bed to slap her hand across Jack’s mouth. Bob retreated into the bathroom and a minute later, they heard the clanking of tools as he set to work on the shower.

“You could try a little harder,” she whispered at Jack.

“Try harder at what?” he whispered back. “This is a ridiculous charade.”

“I know that,” she said, though there was a small part of her that stung at the strength of feeling in his voice. Was it so bad to pretend, even for just a little while, that they were man and wife? She would never marry – she had determined that as a teenager while living at home and listening to the bitter words exchanged by her parents – but when she and Jack had set out on this trip, she’d actually felt warmed by the prospect of them belonging to each other, even if it was to be all an act. Now, it seemed nothing but foolish. She and Jack were better when they kept each other at arm’s length.

“Anyway,” muttered Jack with a glance at the bathroom, but Bob was whistling loudly and it was unlikely he could hear a word, “I think we have a more pressing matter to deal with than my acting abilities.”

“And that is?”

“This, Phryne!” He gestured with both arms at the bed between them. “Do we draw straws?”

Suddenly, Phryne felt tired, too worn down to deal with Jack’s panic at such an absurd problem; not when the case was supposed to be the focus of their attention. So it was almost an act of spite when she clicked open her little case that sat on top of her trunk and pulled out a nightgown whose diaphanous material fluttered as she shook it out and laid it on the bedspread. It was modest enough not to give too much away, but flimsy enough to be just the right amount of scandalous. Jack gaped. “Sleep wherever the hell you want, Jack. I’ll be sleeping right here and unless you want a night spent on the hard floor and a spine full of knots in the morning, I suggest you do the same.” 

She didn’t think it was her imagination when she heard Bob whistling all the louder.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne discover the challenges - and the advantages - of spending the night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a quickie chapter tonight, mainly because I've not had a great deal of time to write over the weekend, but wanted to get an update posted (because I know you all wanted to see how Phryne and Jack navigated the sleeping arrangements;)).
> 
> Hopefully, I'll get a longer chapter posted over the next couple of days, as the case becomes more intriguing.

In her first few moments of waking, Phryne didn’t find much wrong with her situation. She was in a comfortable bed with a man’s firm arms wrapped around her, the delicious feel of him pressed against the length of her back, his legs tangled with hers. In the next moment was confusion: she didn’t particularly recall the night of passion that would usually lead to an embrace like this.

Then, as the last fog of sleep finally cleared, she remembered where she was – and whom she was with. Last night, Jack’s practical side had finally prevailed over his stubborn – and ridiculous – adherence to social mores. Left to his own devices, he’d decided that sleeping in the same bed as a woman to whom he wasn’t married was preferable to a day of chiropractic agony from sleeping on a hard floor. And so he’d climbed into bed wearing an armour of a plain cotton undershirt and flannel pyjama trousers; Phryne had turned her back on him, reluctant to admit that she found his sleepwear entirely appealing. They had both gone to sleep stubbornly clinging to their side of the bed. 

Now, though, Jack was a solid presence next to her, his limbs lax in sleep and draped heavily across her. For a moment, Phryne wondered if she should try and slip out from under his embrace and prevent yet another awkward situation. Only… she didn’t want to. It was warm there and, though she didn’t want to prod the feeling too closely, lying in Jack’s arms, his slow and steady breaths stirring the hair by her ear, brought a comfort she hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

The problem with men was, when sex was involved, matters invariably got complicated. They wanted things, made demands, expected her to change aspects of herself, all to satisfy their own wishes. Phryne had no time for such neediness. Here, though, with Jack in the moments between sleep and waking, she thought she might feel something like… contentment.

She felt the moment Jack woke. His breathing stopped, his arms becoming stiff and rigid, and if Phryne was to name the feeling she experienced at that moment, it would most certainly, unequivocally, _not_ be ‘loss’. She closed her eyes and waited for Jack to leap from the bed and play the affronted matron again.

She was surprised, therefore, when he murmured in her ear, “It seems, Miss Fisher, when it comes to taking liberties with each other’s personal space, we are now even.”

She turned her head and smiled at him and he gave a little smile back, this one warm and more than a little self-effacing. Sometimes, she decided then, Jack Robinson had the rare skill of melting her heart.

***

Dressing for breakfast, Jack was glad to note, was less fraught with hidden complications. They settled into something of a rhythm, sharing the small space of the cabin, swapping their time in the bathroom, each of them circling the other in an easy dance. The slightly mortifying circumstance in which he’d found himself upon waking had, curiously, alleviated the tension between them; ridiculous as it was, it gave him the perfect escape from the absurd outrage and petulance he’d got himself tangled in. He truly could not understand why he always responded to Phryne Fisher this way.

There was another surprising diversion in getting ready in the same room as Phryne. As Jack made a pretence of fiddling with his cufflinks, he watched her make up her face for the day; it was a far simpler process than he’d ever imagined. He couldn’t recall how Rosie did it – he wondered guiltily if this was something a man should always remember about his wife, ex or otherwise – but for some reason, he’d always expected there to be something of an art to how Phryne Fisher painted her face. She was, in effect, a finely drawn thing; lines painted to perfection in black eyeliner and red lipstick. Surely there must be some artifice to how it was all created.

Here behind the curtain, though, he saw that there was no magic after all. Some powder, a flick of kohl and a sweep of red, lips pressed together, then pursed. 

“If you keep watching me like that, Jack, and you’ll make me want to smear my lipstick in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.”

Jack dropped his cufflink and heard it skitter away across the floor. Phryne grinned as she watched him through the mirror. He cursed inwardly for letting himself get so distracted and got down on his hands and knees to find the stray cufflink. “I see what you mean about the dust in here,” he coughed, as he searched under the bed. He had just grabbed the silver stud when another object caught his eye. “Phryne, look at this,” he said, as he crawled back out. He walked round to stand behind her at the mirror and handed her the little paper heart he’d found amid the dust.

“A Valentine, Jack? You shouldn’t have.”

“I’d maybe take the credit if it wasn’t three months too early.”

“What’s this on the back?” said Phryne, turning the little token over. On the other side was written four words.

_Is your heart true?_

“I certainly hope whoever had this cabin before us wasn’t a married couple,” said Phryne. “It’s hardly a question you want to be asking of your spouse.”

“Whoever it was,” said Jack, “I fully sympathise.” And then, seeing Phryne raised eyebrows, added, “I mean because of Rosie.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Yes of course.”

Though he couldn’t exactly say why, it gave him some pleasure to think she may have thought he was talking about her. “Don’t worry, Phryne,” he said, unwilling to let her earlier teasing go without payback. “When I want to smudge your lipstick, you won’t have to send me a paper heart to ask.”

It wasn’t often he left her speechless but, as they left the cabin for breakfast, Jack thought he could claim a minor victory.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack try to find out the truth about the Forbes' last night onboard ship... and skirt a little too close to some truths they'd rather avoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for this chapter. RL is getting a bit crazy in the lead up to Christmas. Hope you enjoy this instalment and thank you all again for the lovely comments and kudos.

In the dining salon, they found the Pearce’s already seated and Jack was genuinely pleased to see them. They were the only people on this entire damn ship he felt completely at ease around.

“Mr and Mrs Robinson,” cried Mr Pearce, standing to greet them. “How lovely for you to join us?”

“Oh, it’s Jack and Phryne, please,” said Phryne.

“And you must call us Ned and Eileen,” said Mr Pearce as they took their seats and the waiter began pouring them coffee.

Mrs Pearce – Eileen – leaned in conspiratorially. “We weren’t sure you would make it to breakfast. It being your wedding night and all.”

Ned chuckled at his wife, even as Jack glanced ruefully at Phryne, whose lips were pressed together as if to hide a grin. 

“Well let me tell you, Eileen,” said Phryne in a whisper, “I had to tear myself from his arms this morning. He barely wanted to let me go.”

The older woman giggled as if she was a young girl hearing the most delightful gossip and patted Phryne’s hand. “That’s how you keep them, my dear. Make sure you’re irresistible to them,” she said with a wink at her husband, who actually blushed. Jack thought that, by the looks of them, Eileen and Ned had a better sex life than he did.  


Phryne took a sip of her coffee and cocked a sly look in Jack’s direction. “Well, darling? Would you say I’m irresistible to you?”

“I don’t think I’ve been able to keep my distance since I first met you,” he replied, with a guileless smile.

Phryne narrowed her eyes in an expression that said _Touché_!

“So that was something of a scene at dinner last night,” said Jack, trying to steer the conversation towards the investigation. Phryne’s expression turned to something that might have been approval and Jack tried not to preen. Just a few months ago, his tactic would have been to barge in like cannon fire, notebook at the ready, leaping directly to the questions he wanted answered. Though he’d never considered why, that approach hadn’t always got him the results he needed. Loathe as he was to admit it, Phryne has shown him that often the subtle, roundabout method eased information out of interviewees without them even knowing they were offering it. Softly, softly felt like the right tactic on this occasion.

“Oh that’s nothing,” said Eileen. “We’ve been audience to that marital drama since Adelaide. It’s the same sort of thing every night. Mrs Sutherland isn’t one to let the boundaries of marriage dictate her behaviour.”

“I’d feel sorry for Sutherland being made a fool of like that,” said Ned, “if it weren’t for the fact the man’s a damned prig. Your pardon, Mrs Robsinon.”

“Oh I’ve heard worse language than that, Ned. And didn’t I tell you to call me Phryne.” She slid another glance at Jack, but this one was all business rather than teasing. She was about to do some more digging. “But tell me, I hear the Forbes were also lacking… shall we say decorum?”

Eileen shrugged. “They were American. I’ve heard they’re all rather crass.”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “I’ve met a few pleasant ones. Maybe they were just from a bad batch.”

“True, true,” said Ned, leaning back to let the waiter serve some bacon onto his plate between a spoon and a fork. Jack wondered idly at the rigmarole; why not just serve the bacon and eggs already plated up? “You get that sort no matter where you go.”

“I daresay you were glad to see the back of them though,” said Phryne. Jack wasn’t sure if she was making the statement because she thought the Pearces might be suspects; he couldn’t see it himself, but she was right not to eliminate them just because they seemed nice.

“We were surprised more than anything, weren’t we, Ned?” said Eileen. “I mean it’s like your friends Mr and Mrs Lin said. They left so abruptly, and after they’d been talking about how they planned to tour Sydney while we’re docked there.”

“But they were sick, weren’t they? Maybe they were too ill for further travel.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Eileen, “although if you ask me, that was no natural sickness.”

Phryne glanced at Jack and he quirked his lips. _Now we’re getting somewhere_ “Oh?” enquired Phryne, all innocence. Lord, but she was good at this.

“Well, they’d been so rude to that waiter. We felt awful for him, didn’t we, Ned.” Her husband nodded in agreement as he tucked into his breakfast. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he tampered with their dessert.”

“Surely not!” exclaimed Phryne. “Why, that has me quite alarmed about eating in the salon. Do you think our food is safe, darling?”

“I wouldn’t worry, dear,” replied Jack. “But perhaps best to avoid that particular waiter.” He reached out and grasped her fingers. “I wouldn’t want you getting sick on our honeymoon. That would quite ruin our plans.” Phryne pressed her other hand to her mouth, but Jack could still see the grin she was trying to hide. “Which waiter was it, Eileen, and we’ll be sure and avoid him.”

“Good luck with that,” huffed Ned. “The bloody man’s everywhere. It’s him over there.” He jerked his head back over his shoulder, without breaking eye contact with his bacon.

Jack and Phryne followed the direction he indicated. “I’m not sure—” began Jack. 

“It’s that fellow,” said Eileen, pointing with her butter knife. “The Maître D’, my dear.”

Jack and Phryne locked eyes; the Maitre D’ who seemed to be the loyal toady of the so-called Lord Cavendish.

“And doesn’t that make our job easier,” murmured Phryne, leaning towards Jack. “I daresay the kitchens might yield some interesting information.” She was itching to get on with the investigation, Jack could tell, and he shared her impatience. 

For the sake of appearances, however, they took their time with breakfast exchanging chit-chat with Eileen and Ned. It was hardly a chore for the older couple were full of stories that had both Jack and Phryne laughing throughout their meal. Contrary to their rather respectable appearance now, it turned out they’d led a rather colourful life of mixed fortunes together.

“Oh she made me chase her, this one,” chuckled Ned. “I was a nothing but a skint wharfie and my girl here was a local councilman’s daughter. She made sure I wasn’t getting her without some bloody hard work.” 

“Tell me I wasn’t worth it,” replied Eileen, with an arched eyebrow and a sly look that Jack found startlingly familiar.

“You were worth it alright, love,” said Ned with a fond smile, covering his hand with his own. Their easy way with one another was obviously born from years of shared experiences and it left Jack more than a little nonplussed; he couldn’t remember it ever being like this for him and Rosie. He glanced at Phryne who was staring at the couple with an expression that was a bit like amazement and a bit like alarm.

“So what about you two?” Eileen’s question startled him.

“What?”

“We’ve been prattling on about our daft stories. I’m sure you two must have a few tales to tell.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Oh no, we’re… boring. Very dull lives.” He refused to look at Phryne, because he knew instinctively the roguish look she’d have in her eye, ready to goad him into participating in a ridiculous lie about how they might have met.

“Well, darling, there was that time—”

“Nope,” he said. “There wasn’t a time.”

But it was too late. The Pearces’ interest was already piqued and there was no escaping from whatever yarn Phryne was about to tell. She turned back to Eileen and Ned, eyes widening like a seasoned storyteller. “I was at the theatre… I didn’t know Jack terribly well at this point… and afterwards, I happened to be… exploring on stage. Well, little did I know some of the scenery had come loose and would have come crashing down upon my head had Jack not dived into the line of fire to push me out of harm’s way.” She sighed dramatically. “I looked up into his eyes at that moment and realised I would have been dead if he hadn’t rescued me.”

Jack bit the inside of his lip and tried not to groan. At least her story was somewhat based in fact, but he’d always had the feeling that Phryne Fisher would have been quite capable of saving herself that day at the Athenaeum.

“So was that when you knew?” asked Eileen, somewhat cryptically. When Phryne knew what?

The question seemed to taken Phryne aback too. “When I knew what?” she said, and her tone had lost all of its affected flair.

“Why, that your husband was the one of course, my dear. That you loved Jack.”

Though he wasn’t the one who’d had the question thrown at him, Jack’s stomach still lurched. And Phryne, remarkably, seemed to have been rendered speechless. Jack couldn’t quite fathom it; he’d normally have put money on her basking in the opportunity to play this ridiculous part she’d created for herself to the full.

“No,” she said, her voice uncertain. “No, it wasn’t then.”

It looked as if Eileen was going to ask her more, and Jack, despite himself, almost wanted her to. But just then raised voices interrupted this strange and unsettling exchange. The four of them turned in the direction of the noise to see Mrs Sutherland striding through the dining salon, her husband close at her heels.

“Well where did it come from,” fumed Mr Sutherland, “if not from one of your… admirers?” The way he said it led Jack to believe he was talking about men whom his wife allowed to do more than just admire.

“For God sake, James, if it was from someone I knew, wouldn’t I just tell you? When have I felt the need to hide that from you before?” She gave a laugh that sounded cruel. “As if you’d ever do anything about it.”

“Then what is this supposed to mean?” Sutherland brandished something in her face.

“It seems self-explanatory to me,” she said, and for a moment her blasé expression turned to something akin to hurt. She stepped closer to her husband until they were almost nose to nose, and grabbed whatever he had in his hand; now it was her turn to do the brandishing. “Maybe it’s a question you should ask yourself for once.” Then she turned and strode from the room. James Sutherland stormed after her and in their wake, something fluttered to the ground. 

After a few seconds of silence in the salon, Phryne cleared her throat and made her way to where the couple had just been arguing. She dropped her purse and bent to scoop it up. Saying their goodbyes to a bemused Ned and Eileen, Jack stood to join her.

“And what have you got there, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne tilted her purse to show what she was hiding. “I’m starting to think that little love note you found isn’t as innocent as we thought.” Lying on the palm of her hand was a small paper heart and across its middle were scrawled the words _Is your heart true?_

Looking over her shoulder, Jack saw that they were being watched. He took Phryne’s elbow and turned her a fraction, so she too could see Cavendish and Captain O’Hanlon glowering at where they stood. Keeping his grip on her arm, he steered both of them from the salon and said, “I think you were right, Miss Fisher. I think it’s about time we see what we can find out from the ship’s staff.”

As they left the salon, he didn’t know what he was more glad of: a lead in the case or the fact that he didn’t have to witness Phryne’s discomfort at even the suggestion she might feel something for him.


End file.
